


The Locket

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dealthy Hallows: Camping, M/M, Mental Anguish, Tragedy, Transcending time and space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Harry has grown close to the locket he wears around his neck.





	The Locket

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Draco’s Den Roll-a-Drabble. I was given Regulus/Harry + Tragedy. I’m not sure how much justice I did this prompt, but Harry’s loneliness spoke to me, so here we go!

There’s a soul that calls out to Harry like a beacon. 

He’s sure he can hear it when it’s the midnight hour and the stars blink down at him under a velvet sky. It’s in the breeze as it whisks past his ears. It’s the rush of the sea as he stands at the edge of England’s cliffs.

And while he’s never met the voice that calls to him like a siren in the night, he knows its owner. Can picture him perfectly as if they’d been old friends since the dawn of time. Long, dark hair that kisses the tops of his shoulders. Intense, wide eyes that mimic the sheen of brown tourmaline.

An almost-replica of the closest family he’s ever known. But harder, somehow. Coarse where his brother’s edges were soft. Braver than any Slytherin has ever been. A perfect paradox of a wizard. And, perhaps, that’s why the pull to him is so intense. 

He knows they’re separated by the impenetrable and unforgiving mercy of time. And Death’s grip suffocated his light well before he’d ever had a chance to explore this clench on his soul. But, still, it’s there. A beacon, a siren, a pull to something more — someone more.

The locket beats against his chest.

R.A.B.’s final act. 

He tried, he tried, he  _ tried _ .

And still, it wasn’t enough. 

And Harry — he’s the first to try since. Failure hangs over him as he listens for encouragement in the pulse of his name on the wind. It’s desperate, he thinks, filled with a type of hope that’s always made Harry uncomfortable.

The locket is heavy. Like all the pressure on his shoulders isn’t enough, now there’s this piece of darkness nestled constantly against his chest. It infects him, enrages him. But the whisper of his name on lips that faded long ago — that’s his salvation. It grounds him and keeps him focused. When the forest around him feels dead and empty, it’s Regulus’ voice that pushes him onward.

“Harry.” 

Feminine. Worried. Tentative.

He tenses and rolls his neck from side to side. “What?”

Her fingers curl against his shoulder as she stares down at him. Tears glisten like dew against her lashes. “This isn’t healthy. Wearing that— thing— all the time.”

Harry’s fingers curl around the locket. His knuckles are white, his molars grind. It’s his, his and Regulus’, and he knows that it’s playing on his nerves but he needs to keep it safe.

“It’s fine, Hermione.” 

Terse. Dismissive. Cold. 

“You’re not acting right.” She squats down and meets his eyes. “You’re not sleeping. You’re not eating.”

He blinks behind his round glasses and furrows the thick brows over his eyes. The voice whistles around him again. Calls his name, a soft caress. Loving, almost. Familiar.

“Stop nagging,” he says, “I’m fine.”

When she leaves, the voice is gone. 

Come back, come back,  _ come back.  _ He begs with his head in his hands and his hair woven through his fingers. Harry isn’t sure what’s happening to him but he knows precisely what he needs — who he needs.

It’s dark and Hermione is sleeping. He’s alone. He tries to peer around in the dark to see if anything manifests around him, but there’s nothing and no one and he’s truly alone again.

It’s hours into the night when he hears it again. 

_ Harry.  _ It calls out to him, softly, lovingly.

And he answers finally. 

“Regulus.” The name leaves him like a prayer. 

Regulus isn’t here, not physically. But Harry can feel him in the beat of his heart and the thrum of blood through his veins. 

“I know how you felt.” Harry curls his fingers around the locket and holds tight. “I feel it and I—”

His words stick in the back of his throat. The remorse, the utter helplessness he feels that he can’t save Regulus. Another person to die on his behalf. He feels something like a caress ghost down his spine. Harry almost moves into the sensation. 

“It’s hopeless,” Harry whispers with his lips pressed into the cold metal locket. “This is… hopeless.”

It’s like an egg cracks over his skull. He’s tingling at the base of his neck, his vision wanes in and out, and then the world around him sparks to life. But, it’s not the Forest of Dean. He’s elsewhere — somewhere he’s been only once and never wants to visit again. 

The water is still and black in the barely lit cave. He knows what lies just under the surface and his jaw clenches. Just across the way, a short boat trip, a small island probably charred from the fire that Headmaster Dumbledore used to save them so many months ago. He doesn’t like being here and wants to wake up from whatever nightmare this is. 

A hand curls around his shoulder and he jumps away. He nearly lands in the water, but a hand holds him steady and he finally sees for the first time. Dark hair, long and sleek. A sharp jaw, pillowy lips with a deep bow. 

“Regulus.”

“You have to destroy the locket.” Regulus tells him, his eyes severe and drilling back into Harry’s gaze. “It’s not safe to wear it. You’ll go mad.”

“I’m afraid I’ve already gone mad.” Harry steps back from the ethereal man in front of him. “You’re dead. I’m not really here.”

Regulus nods. “That doesn’t mean you don’t need to destroy that locket. Do it now.”

“I…” Harry takes the locket in his hand and rolls it over. It poised against his skin, a sweet reminder that he’s not alone. “I don’t want to lose this.”

“It’s not real, Harry.” And yet the hand on his shoulder feels real. The sound of his voice seems like it’s here. “I’m dead. I’m not coming back.”

“But—” How does he say that he’s felt so isolated until the locket came into his life? How does he say that he’s addicted to its companionship, to the little ways it reminds him it’s there?

Regulus’s lips lift, a pitiful smile. “Remember what it cost you. What it cost  _ me _ .”

“I can bring you back.” Harry is earnest as he moves closer to Regulus. “I’ll bring you back and you can fight with us.”

“No man or wizard can bring me back,” Regulus chuckles. “But I’ll fight with you — from here.”

His hand runs down from Harry’s shoulder to his chest and rests over his sternum. The beat of Harry’s heart races. He’s warm in the cheeks and swallows a thick lump in his throat. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse and low. 

“I’ll use a time-turner.”

Regulus draws nearer, his voice matching Harry’s. “You’ll do no such thing. I won’t take away the work I’ve done against The Dark Lord.”

“But you’re here, in the water. That’s what all your hard work has gotten you!” He’s aware he’s petulant now and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to leave here without Regulus. 

“It got me here, with you.” Regulus’ hand moves to Harry’s cheek. 

“This isn’t even real.” Harry places his hand over his and curls his fingers in. 

“And yet, you’re willing to die for it.”

Harry doesn’t have a chance to breathe. Regulus lands his lips softly against his own and lets him go just as quickly. 

When Harry’s eyes focus, he’s back in the Forest of Dean. It’s cold. It’s dark. And there’s a shimmering blue doe ahead of him. 

He scrambles to rise and follow it as it weaves through the trees. 

Regulus, it has to be.

_ Destroy the locket _ . He hears Regulus’ voice clear as glass in his ear. He nods sharply and chases after the doe.

Real or not, he’s lost too much to Voldemort. 

And either way this ends, Harry will find a way back to Regulus. 


End file.
